


Disintegrating From All The Medicine

by Wish_ika



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Cancer, Character Death, Fukuroudani, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Karasuno, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Nekoma, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wish_ika/pseuds/Wish_ika
Summary: Bokuto knows what he wants to do with his life, play volleyball forever with Akaashi. And then he gets the diagnosis.An AU where Bokuto gets cancer and Akaashi has to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji & Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Hinata Shouyou, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Disintegrating From All The Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a piece of work by @nia._.sin on instagram. Please go check her out

The text comes late at night. Keiji Akaashi sits on his chair at his desk, books scattered around him as he studies for a test. The little ping alerts him and he leans over to the bed and grabs his phone. It’s Bokuto. Not unusual. He probably just realised that they had a test and freaked out about it. Missing two days of school wasn’t a reason to skip a test. He opens the text and stares at it.

Bokuto  
Bokuto: Can you come over to my house?

There’s no emojis or excessive use of exclamation marks. He really must be stressed. Or tired. That training camp drained everyone, except the crows, seemingly unbreakable. 

Bokuto

Akaashi: Can I come over tomorrow morning?  
Akaashi: I’m studying right now  
Akaashi: I can help you with the study tomorrow morning  
Bokuto: Please.  
Bokuto: This isn’t about studying

The texts come back immediately and he sighs, debating in his head. He could go over now and study tomorrow morning. Find out what’s throwing Bokuto into one of his depressive moments. Or he could stay home and go tomorrow. But Bokuto had said please. And that means things are serious.

Bokuto

Akaashi: Fine  
Akaashi: I’ll ride over. Give me five minutes

He pushes the chair back and stands up, walking over to the door and grabbing his bike helmet. It won’t take him that long to get over there, and then he can interrogate Bokuto about what’s wrong.

~  
Pick it up, pick it all up  
And start again  
You’ve got a second chance  
You could go home  
~

The lights in the Bokuto house are all on, despite the late hour. Akaashi jumps off the bike and stashes it in the usual place, knocking on the door. Bokuto’s father answers the door, brows drawn and lips trembling.

“Keiji. Are you here for Kōtarō?” He asks, surveying the younger teen.

“Yes sir.”

“He’s in his room. Excuse the house.” Akaashi pulls off his shoes and puts them on one side of the hall, making a beeline for the stairs and Bokuto’s bedroom. Quiet sobs pull his attention away and he looks into the kitchen, where Bokuto’s mum stands at the table, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stares into space, shoulders shaking. It’s not his place to ask why, and he continues up the stairs to the bedroom. The door is ajar and he gently slides it a bit more open, blinking in shock. The room looks like a tsunami just hit it. The books and games on the shelves are scattered across the floor and a volleyball lies near the entrance. 

Posters of famous players and advertisements for the spring tournament hang in tatters, little scraps of the paper on the floor. Bokuto’s volleyball trophies are in random places, one lying next to the doorframe, dented and dusty. He slides the door closed behind him, eyeing the hole in the back, connecting the dots between the trophy and the broken door. Akaashi reaches over and flicks the lights on, throwing the bedroom into stark definition. Bokuto sits on the bed, wrapped in his blankets with the team list for the spring tournament in his hands.

“Bokuto? Are you OK?” He asks, carefully avoiding the scattered objects on the floor. Bokuto stays silent, staring at the piece of paper hard enough to burn it. “Bokuto?” The older boy looks up at Akaashi and he startles. The dark bags underneath his eyes that have been growing for weeks are now red and puffy, gleaming in the light. 

“Hey Akaashi. Thanks for coming.” His voice is hoarse and sad, missing the usual bounce that motivates the team.

“What’s wrong? Why have you trashed your room?” Akaashi sweeps some random paper off the end of the bed and sits down, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“You’re going to have to find a new Outside Hitter for the tournament. I’m not going to be there.” His voice hitches at the end of the sentence and his fingers tremble. The words shock Akaashi and he sits upright, twisting his head. Bokuto? Willingly miss out on a tournament? Something must be truly wrong.

“Why?” Bokuto shakes his head and drops the piece of paper, wrapping his arms around his chest. “You need to tell me why.” 

“You know how I can’t sleep and can’t eat? And how I’m never warm anymore?” Akaashi knew those, giving all his jumpers to the spiky haired boy. “Yeah. We went to a doctor this morning. Mum forced me. And he said that I’ve…. I’m really sick. And I can’t play volleyball anymore.” Akaashi’s heart stops dead and he freezes, waiting for Bokuto to laugh and tell him that it’s all a joke and that he isn’t sick. But Bokuto’s expression doesn’t change and Akaashi’s heart drops.

“No. Shit. What’s wrong?” He manages to fit the words around a lump in his throat, swallowing harshly. 

“I’ve got Hodgkin lymphoma. Stage four. I start chemotherapy soon. But I can’t play any sport. And I have to leave school. And stay in a hospital.” Bokuto says the last part with a strained tone, crumpling backwards onto his bed. “I don’t want to be sick. I don’t want to leave volleyball. Or you.” It feels like someone grabbed Akaashi’s lungs and squeezed every last drop of air out of them. It hurts. Bokuto in hospital? Under the harsh white lights where he can’t move or run or play volleyball. And his worst worry is about leaving him?

“Don’t worry about me Bokuto. I’ll be fine. Will you?” He reaches out and gently takes his friend’s hand, squeezing it in time with his heartbeat.

“It has a 65 percent survival rate. But the doctors think that because I’m young, I will almost definitely survive this.” Bokuto squeezes back, whispering his words.

“Do you promise? The team needs you. I need you. The great horned owl.” Akaashi makes a point to say the last bit, looking at the strands of streaky dyed hair. It looks limper than usual and Bokuto tries to muster a small smile at the words.

“I promise. It’s not like I’m every going to leave you Akaashi. You’re going to have to deal with me forever and ever and ever.” His voice cracks as he says ever, tears brimming in his large gold eyes. “I’m scared. Even though it’s going to be alright, I don’t want to do this.” A tear rolls down his cheeks and he buries his face into the pillow, choking on his sobs.

“It’s going to be OK Bokuto. I’m going to be with you every step of the way. Forever and ever and ever right?” This gets a little smile out of his teammate. “Come here. I don’t care if you don’t want a hug, you’re getting one.” 

“Thanks, Akaashi.” They hug each other, Akaashi burying his head into his friend’s shoulder, thoughts racing through his mind at an unnatural speed. Bokuto’s sobs and tears stain his jumper but he couldn’t care less. What was worrying about tears worth when your friend has a 65 percent chance of living? Bokuto slowly pulls back and smiles weakly, tugging blankets around both of them. “What was it you said about studying for tomorrow?”

“There’s a test.” Akaashi manages to choke out the words, rubbing at the tears pooling in his eyes. Bokuto’s expression is slightly comical and he huffs out a wet laugh, waving his hand. “Don’t worry about it. You’re more important anyway.”

~  
Escape it all  
It’s just irrelevant  
It’s just medicine  
It’s just medicine  
~

Akaashi is sitting in his room again when he gets another text.

Bokuto

Bokuto: Wanna help me shave my head?  
Bokuto: You don’t have to  
Akaashi: Coming over now

The wind whipping around gives him pause and he grabs the fluffiest scarf he has, a bright yellow one that Bokuto adores. It reminds him of the Fukurodani school colours. When he jumps off the bike the door is already open and Bokuto is sitting outside on the step, wearing surprisingly little.

“Bokuto! What are you doing outside? You know that its cold.” Akaashi sighs, unwrapping his scarf and draping it around Bokuto’s neck. He looks into Bokuto’s face and pauses, taking in the gaunt cheeks and pale skin. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” Bokuto pushes himself off the step and walks inside, clutching the scarf. The stairs loom in front of them, looking impossible. Akaashi looks at his friend, seeing the way that the breath rattles in his throat and his leg trembles when he climbs the stairs. By the time they reach the top Bokuto’s chest is heaving in breaths and it scares him. He used to be able to run laps for hours and keep up with Akaashi’s bike easily. Now he gets winded by a pair of stairs. The bathroom door is open and Bokuto leans on the bench, staring at his reflection.

“Goodbye to my hair.” He whispers, tears slightly building with his words.  
“Are you sure you want me to do this Bokuto?” Akaashi asks, half hoping that he will say no, let someone else do it. He adores Bokuto’s hair, the way it stands up in fluffy clumps that no one can tame.

“Yes. I trust you. It’s going to fall out anyway right? Might as well be someone who I love who cuts it for me.” The lump in his throat doubles in size and he nods silently, picking up the scissors. The first chunk of dyed silver and black hair hits the floor. Bokuto had dyed it like that as a stupid bet, then decided he wanted to keep it in, redoing it every few months. The scissors cut through it too easily and another clump joins the strands on the floor. Tears fall from Bokuto’s eyes as he watches in the mirror, handing a razor backwards to finish the job. A few spots of blood rise when the razor nicks the scalp and he hisses quietly. Little strands of fuzz join the long hair chunks on the floor and Akaashi looks at his finished work. It doesn’t look like his closest friend. The little spikes of dyed hair litter his feet and he refuses to look at them, focusing on the one in pain.

“You look good.”

“I look like that stupid wing spiker from Hinata’s team.” Bokuto says drily, huffing out a laugh. “I need a beanie to stop myself from freezing.” Akaashi nods and bends down, grabbing a little brush and pan and sweeping the hair into it, cleaning up the floor and emptying it into the bin. 

“Let me help you.” Bokuto tries to lean down and knocks the razor straight off the bench. Akaashi reaches out to grab it before it hits the tiles and it cuts into his finger. Little specks of blood rise as Bokuto gasps, trying to open a drawer. His legs give out halfway through the motion and he collapses onto the floor next to Akaashi, staring numbly at the wall. Akaashi reaches around him and grabs a band aid, wrapping it around the bleeding finger and smiling at his friend. 

“You didn’t have to try and help me Bokuto. I’m fine.”

“You’re trying to help me though. I know that your grades are slipping. What exactly are you doing that is keeping you from working like you usually would?” Bokuto sniffles as he wipes his nose on his shirt.

“I…. I’ve been researching Hodgkin Lymphomas. To see how they can get treated and how you can get better.”

“I know how I can get better. By doing the treatments the doctors tell me. Chemotherapy. Radiation therapy. They’re going to get me better. I promise. I want to play another game of volleyball and it’s no fun if you can’t breathe after getting out of bed.” Bokuto reaches out for Akaashi’s hand and he takes it gently, rubbing his thumb across the palm softly and calmingly.

“I know. I just wish that you weren’t sick.” Akaashi’s words hitch in his throat and Bokuto sighs deeply, curling into his side.

“Me too.”

~  
You could still be  
What you want to  
What you said you were  
When I met you  
~

The ball lands in Akaashi’s hands and he tosses it backwards, perfectly to his new wing spiker. It tears straight through the other team’s defences and his spiker cheers, pointing to the scoreboard. 25-17. They won. Their first game without Bokuto and they won it. 

“Akaashi! Get over here!” His teammate hisses from the line and he races over, bowing to the other team. They bow back and yell thank you from the other side. His coach beckons them over but someone familiar sits on in the stands. Bokuto looks like he’s aged years in a few months, curled in a wheelchair under layers and layers of blankets, Akaashi’s scarf wrapped around his neck. He races over, skidding to a halt in front of his friend. 

"That was a really good toss.” Bokuto breaks the silence, smiling slightly.

“But that hit was horrible compared to yours.” Akaashi grins back, tilting his head over at the gossiping mass of teammates, who shoot looks in their direction.

“How well are they taking it?”

“Horribly. They feel guilty about it, and I have no clue why.” Akaashi shakes his head, flicking his hair backwards. “They think that it’s because they over worked or pressured you too much. They can’t grasp that fact that it’s no one’s fault here.”

“If I had gone for help earlier then they could’ve stopped it faster.” Bokuto sounds pained, burying his head into the scarf. 

“And you didn’t. But you’re getting better, now right?” Bokuto doesn’t say anything, just clutches the sides of his wheelchair. 

“Right?”

“I’m being moved into the hospital tomorrow. I need more intense treatments and they want to keep me under surveillance in case I get worse suddenly.” The world goes still around him and his heart stops yet again. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I came to the game to see how you’re going and to give you back this.” He unwraps the scarf and attempts to hand it over to Akaashi. 

“Keep it. It looks good on you.” Akaashi pushes his hand away gently

“You think so? Well everyone knows that I am the best-looking ace in all of Japan.” His triumphant laugh is cut off by coughs, the deep chesty ones that shake his entire body. His mother, standing a little bit off to the side sprints back over and hands him tissues, letting him cough into them as he heaves. 

“We should get you home.” She sounds worried as she grabs the handlebars and pushes him away. Bokuto leans to the side and smiles slightly, still heaving.

“Come visit me soon!” He says loudly, breaking off into another coughing fit. Akaashi is left alone to think, turning over every single thought in his head. 

~  
You’ve got a warm heart  
You’ve got a beautiful brain  
But it’s disintegrating  
From all the medicine  
~

Hospital’s suck. Akaashi is firm in that belief now, hands stuffed in the pockets of his largest hoodie. His temperature had been taken when he entered and been given full allowance to see Bokuto and enter his ward. But he just couldn’t. The too clean smell. The bright lights and white floors. Little cramped beds and beeping machines hooked up to people who were fighting for their lives and everything they loved. The little garden for the patients is empty and Akaashi curls up on a stone bench in the corner, breathing in the scent of the flowers to calm his turning stomach. Footsteps click on the tiles and he looks up, seeing Bokuto’s other best friend, wearing his Nekoma team jumper.

“Akaashi. You here to see him? Can I sit here?” The rooster haired boy rattles off the questions, taking the nod as a response to all of them. “This sucks doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Akaashi keeps his voice neutral, watching the bees on the closest flower.

“Oh, silly me, haven’t congratulated you. Good job getting through the first rounds. And I mean that it sucks to see Bokuto in a hospital when he should be out doing whatever you Fukurōdani Academy kids do on the weekends.” His sharp eyes follow Akaashi’s and he gets the creeping feeling that Kuroo knows everything about him and is sizing him up as an opponent. 

“Yes, it sucks. But don’t try and blame Bokuto for any of this.” The other boy takes in a shocked breath, almost a strangled gasp. His arrogant façade drops immediately and his expression becomes sincere.

“People are blaming Bokuto for this? For lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life?”

“I take it that you haven’t heard the rumour. One of Japan’s top five aces faking a diagnosis with lymphoma in order to get out of playing in his last year of volleyball in high school.” Akaashi lets his voice take on a furious tone, anger boiling in his stomach. The gossip circulating the schools made him want to punch everything around him, to scream out his frustration. 

“People are saying that? That’s ridiculous. Bokuto would never fake anything to get out of volleyball. And in his last year as well.”

“I know. But these stupid people keep following me around and asking if he’s faking it, if he’s going to be alright, if he’s going to die. And I don’t have the guts to tell him that people think that he’s weak because of the fact that he’s sick or that he is bad at the sport and is trying to escape being an ace. I just hate it.” Akaashi’s fingers tighten on the armrest of the bench and he closes his eyes, breathing hard. A hand, surprisingly gentle for someone from another school, pats his back gently. 

“Look. I know that I am not as close to Bokuto as you are. We’re often on the other side of the net fighting. But I care for someone on my team with the same amount of care that you have for Bokuto. If it were Kenma in the hospital bed fighting off lymphoma and people told me that he was obviously faking it and that he wants to escape the sport and pressure, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t think I would be able to cope. And the fact that you’re dealing with all of this and still winning all of your volleyball games by at least a set, I don’t know how I would cope. You’re stronger than you think Akaashi. If it were Kenma, my heart would be broken and I would be crying myself to sleep every night. But Bokuto says that you are always there and supporting him, and I think that’s why he loves you so much.” Kuroo takes a deep breath and pats his back again, snapping his mouth shut. “So, we go in there and pretend that everything is fine and perfect. For Bokuto.”

“For Bokuto.” Akaashi echoes, trying to make sense of the rant. Bokuto loves him? And said it to another person? He really must be on drugs. He stands up and nods to Kuroo. “Thank you for the advice Kuroo. I need to see him.” Kuroo nods back and lies against the bench, pulling out his phone as Akaashi opens the door and walks inside.

“See you on the court.”

~  
From all the medicine  
From all the medicine  
Medicine  
~

The ward is too bright and Akaashi wishes he had brought sunglasses or something. 

“Akaashi! Hey, hey, hey!” The yell comes from the middle of the ward and is immediately followed by shushing sounds from every other bed. The yeller in question looks slightly ashamed, sitting up in his hospital bed with the bright yellow scarf around his neck. His bald head shines under the lights and the sheer number of medical machines hooked up or into his body makes Akaashi wish he stayed at home. But he promised Bokuto that he would be there every step of the way. He walks down the centre of the room, and up to the bed. Bokuto has manga strewn across his blanket, the thin hospital gown doing nothing to cover the sharpness of his shoulders or the ragged breaths he takes. His grin is massive and he waves at his friend, ignoring the tangle of monitors attached to various parts of him. An IV drip swings from his other arm and a small piece of coloured tape covers up the needles, probably so Bokuto won’t freak out. A small box of Pocky sticks is on the table next to him.

“Hi Bokuto. Did Kuroo come to visit you earlier?” The frantic nods from the boy make him smile slightly.

“Yeah! He came to visit to let me know they got through. Did you know his parents helped fund this ward when it was being built? Pretty cool right?” The words pour out of his mouth and he grins. Akaashi’s brain flicks through the information, pocketing little bits away.

“Wait. His parents funded this ward?” Akaashi asks, pulling a chai up to the side of the bed.

“They’re really rich. Every person that goes to Nekoma is literally so rich I swear. Kenma has a private plane. How cool is that?” Bokuto puts a bookmark in his manga and sits up, rearranging the tangle of wires. 

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He says, reaching out a hand. Bokuto takes it, gently squeezing it. “How are you?”

“I feel like I got hit in the head with a volleyball. Better than last week though. And I go in for another round of treatments tonight. They reckon that I’m all ready to be released in a few months. I’m grounded from school for nearly half a year so my immune system can recover, then I can get back and re-sit all of the tests and exams I’ve missed. They’re willing to let me skip the rest of this year, but I have to move into your class next year so that I can do everything all over again and catch up. Which means I get an extra year to play volleyball with you and we can win the tournament. Together.” Bokuto lists off his plans, rolling his eyes madly at the mention of school.

“What are you planning to do after that? After school I mean.” Akaashi’s question makes him pause and look away for a second.

“I don’t know. I mean I am one of the top five aces in Japan, I think I could go pro league volleyball.”

“Which team?”

“MSBY Black Jackals to start. Maybe even go to onto the international circuit. Play professionally for Japan. I would like that. But you would have to come to every game and cheer for me.” Bokuto’s eyes go sparkly as he maps out his future, tapping a circle on the back of Akaashi’s hand.

“I’d come to every one of your games. I promise.” Akaashi whispers, squeezing his hand.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t have the drive to join you for professional. I’d settle for being an editor of writer for a manga or newspaper. That still sounds cool right?” 

“Yeah! But you would have to promise to still set for me occasionally. Who am I without you? The best setter in Japan!” 

“I don’t know. What are you without Oikawa?” Akaashi says back, keeping his face deadpan. A smile breaks out on his friend’s and he begins to laugh, wheezing. The wheezing laugh turns into deep deep coughing and Akaashi sits up in alarm, seeing a call nurse button. He taps it and stands up, putting his other hand onto Bokuto’s heaving back and rubbing it gently. 

“It’s OK Bo. Breathe.” He whispers as a nurse comes running up to check on them. She scans the monitors and nods at Akaashi.

“Thank you for alerting us. It’s time for his treatment anyway. Thank you for visiting.” She grabs the back of the bed and begins to unhook the assortment of beeping machines. Oh.

“Thanks for coming in Akaashi. Text me on how your next game goes?” Bokuto’s face is resigned as she ushers his friend out.

“Of course. I hope the treatment goes well. Good luck Bokuto.” He bows and squeezes his hand one last time, walking for the door.

“Good luck too.”

~  
You could still be  
What you want to be  
~

Akaashi smiles softly at the nurse as she passes him. In the months that Bokuto has been in hospital, Akaashi spent his spare times reading up on cures and treatment and making friends with all the nurses. They even know him by name now. 

“Greetings Akaashi-san. Bokuto will be excited to see you. He should be awake and up by now. How was your volleyball game?” Mira, one of the nicer nurses, walks up to him, balancing a stack of note boards in one hand as she stops and smiles. Her brown bun is hidden under her hospital cap and her blue facemask muffles her words. 

“It wasn’t the best game ever.” He replies easily, shifting the straps of the bag to his other hand and inclining his head down the corridor. “Can I go right in?”

“Of course. Say hi for me.” She says, pushing her glasses up with one hand and continuing down the corridor, notebooks leaning dangerously as she leaves. Akaashi watches her go with a little smile. She reminds him of his Aunt, a strong yet caring woman.

The room that Bokuto has been moved to no longer looks bare and empty. Instead it looks full of life. A few posters hang from his wall and Akaashi leans around to look up at them. A Fukurōdani poster sits near the window, half covered by a Nekoma banner and a Karasuno poster, saying to support the team as they go to nationals. 

Bokuto sits out of the bed for once, curled in a chair in the corner, beanie and yellow scarf on, fluffy black blanket draped over him. The manga he must have been reading lies discarded on the table next to him, along with some flowers and cards. His eyes are empty and staring out the window at the grim Tokyo skyline. Every time Akaashi visits him, he looks a little less alive, a little less happy. His cheekbones stick out, and the hospital gown dwarfs his skinny frame. Gone are the thighs that fought to escape the compression sleeves and the muscular arms to spike the ball. A bandage wraps around one arm and his hospital ID bracelet stands out against his sickly pale skin. The second that he notices Akaashi, he sits up straight, a smile flying onto his face.

“Akaashi!” His strange pronunciation makes a tiny smile bloom on Akaashi’s face. Did Bokuto mishear him the first time he introduced himself? Or did Bokuto think that the k was suddenly a g.

“Hi.” He replies, awkwardly twisting the bag around between his hands. 

“How was it? Did you kick some Neko butt?” Bokuto yelps it excitedly, poking his tongue out at the Nekoma banner that Kuroo must have glued to the walls. 

“We didn’t do as well as we could’ve.” Akaashi deflects, eyes sliding down onto the floor, avoiding his friends prying gaze. 

“Did we lose?” Bokuto whispers the words, mood shifting in a second, mouth falling open. Akaashi meets his eyes, nodding to confirm what they both knew. If he still had hair, it would’ve fallen flat immediately. 

Bokuto weakness number 17- when he can’t play and the team loses, he will always find some way to blame himself. 

“If I was there, I could’ve helped. We would’ve won. Gone to nationals. Beat those damn cats and crows. We would’ve been the best in Japan. I’m the ace. I should’ve been there. I would have made us win. That’s the role of an ace.” He almost babbles the words, arms waving as he talks. Akaashi can feel his bitterness rising and he forces it down. It’s not Bokuto’s fault. 

“It’s not your fault. I should’ve tried harder.” He whispers back, sinking down onto the bed and looking down at the bag he holds. Bokuto shakes his head fervently, eyes wide.

“You played amazing. I know you did. But I should’ve been on the court. I know that if I was there, things would’ve gone differently.” He insists again. The bile rising in Akaashi’s throat chokes him, as he tries to hold back the venom that he wants to let loose. 

“You weren’t there. We couldn’t change that.” The words slip out before Akaashi can stop them, cutting through the clean air like a knife. It hits Bokuto, who’s eyes fill with tears and he yanks up the scarf burying his face in it. He regrets the words immediately, panic flying through his head as his heart stops briefly. 

“It’s not my fault that I’m here.” Bokuto’s words fill the frosty silence as he glares at his bandaged wrist. There isn’t anything for Akaashi to say to that. He just pulls the bag off his wrist and drops it onto the bed.

“I know that.” Akaashi whispers, forcing the words out from around the lump in his throat. Something in him does want to blame Bokuto, but he can’t and wouldn’t even if he dared. Bokuto nods weakly, arms tucked into the blanket as he wraps up tighter, face pale and sad. There’s something in there as well, a soft sort of longing that is reflected in the frosty glass windowpanes of the room. There’s almost a tear welling in the corner of one eye, lips pressed together tightly as if to choke down a sob. He looks truly broken, each breath rattling in his throat. Even the way he clutches the blanket is trembling, so weak compared to his former self. He seems thoroughly wounded as he sits there, nearly no monitors hooked up to him for once. Gone is the confident ace who Akaashi loved so much. In his place sits a husk, pain and hurt filling all the space inside of him. There’s still light, he can tell. It just needs to be pulled into the open.

Akaashi reaches down and grabs the bag, pushing off the bed. Bokuto takes a long second to drag his gaze up from the window and to meet his friend’s. 

“What’s this?” He asks, a hint of his old playful self-creeping into his tone. The light in his tone sounds a little bit faked, the smile he puts on not reaching his eyes. Akaashi drops the bag onto his lap, raising up an eyebrow.

“The team and I saw it after the game and we thought you might like him.”

“It’s a him?” Bokuto pulls the bag off, tearing at the wrapping. With each pull he reveals more and more of the object, eyes lightening when it’s revealed. “Hey hey hey!” He almost shouts the words, holding the stuffed owl up high. It’s got black and white spikes on its head, with a little jersey pulled over it. The jersey is handmade by Kaori, with a number four stitched onto the back and the Capitan logo on front. Fukurōdani’s distinctive colours streak it, making the owl into a replica of Bokuto.

“We thought it looked like you. The hair I mean. Kaori sewed the shirt and I wrapped it” Bokuto’s expression is unreadable, eyes cloudy as he gazes at it. A tear slips out of his eye and Akaashi nearly jumps out of his skin. “Bokuto-san? Are you alright?”

“I love him.” Bokuto whispers, burying his face in the top of its cartoon feathers, tears dripping down his cheeks as he cuddles it, holding it with his trembling hands. The breath Akaashi doesn’t even know he was holding leaves his lungs and he relaxes again, breathing deeply.

“Good”

~  
What you said you were  
When you met me  
~

The manga that Akaashi has lying on his lap is finally ending. Bokuto is light on his shoulder, head nestled in the crook of his neck. His light breaths ruffle Akaashi’s black hair. One of his hands is on the book, the other cuddling the owl to his chest. 

“Well that sucked.” Bokuto whispers, huffing out a slight laugh. In little more than two weeks, he’s faded even more, ribs sticking out. The board with notes on the table gets bigger every time Akaashi visits, newer notes stapled on top of the growing book. 

“What fool decided to do that stereotypical ending?” Akaashi closes the manga, putting it on the nearby table, along with what appears to be a whole pharmacy of drugs. Bokuto nods, curling into him and hugging the owl even tighter. “Have you named it yet?”

“Yep.” He chirps, picking up the stuffed toy and waving it in Akaashi’s face. “His name is Owly and I love him. Do you wanna pat him?” Akaashi reaches past Bokuto’s thrashing hands and pats it’s head, smiling slightly. 

“Hello Owly. Nice to meet you.” He replies, keeping his face straight. Bokuto grins then laughs, before the laugh descends into a fit of coughing that has Akaashi worried. A glass of water is on the table and he grabs it, holding it to Bokuto’s pale lips. He drinks gratefully, coughs stopping as he breathes. 

“I’m alright Akaashi.” Bokuto whispers, over pronouncing his name like usual. He takes another sip, closing his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Why in the world are you sorry?” He snaps, watching the glass of water empty. 

“Because you never signed up to deal with this. With me.” His whispered apology strikes deep into Akaashi’s chest, winding him. 

“Yes, I did. I signed up for this when I became friends with you. And I know you would’ve done the same for me. We promised right? So, I signed up for this. I’m staying here and staying with you.” Akaashi reminds, leaning into his friend as he tears up. The scarf they share is warm and soft against his neck. A tear slips free of his eyes and he lets out a little sob, dropping his head down. 

“Why? Why did I have to get sick?” Bokuto whimpers the words, tears rolling over his cheeks. The hospital gown stands out against his skin, the yellow scarf showing harsh against the pale flesh. Akaashi doesn’t know. And he doesn’t know how to answer. What would be an answer that’s understandable? Because life isn’t fair at all? Because someone up there has a cruel and twisted sense of fate? Because everything sucks? Because I couldn’t do anything to help you? Because nothing is fair anymore?

“I don’t know.” He answers honestly, reaching a handout to gently grasp Bokuto’s hand. “But I know that you’re going to get better.” Bokuto nods, before descending into a fit of coughing that is so deep and broken that it stabs into his heart. 

“I don’t know anymore. They think…” Bokuto whispers hoarsely, a speck of blood flying onto the sheet as he coughs again. Shit. Akaashi shoots up to his feet as Bokuto collapses forward off the pillow, chest heaving as he attempts to bring in air. Owly goes flying as he leaps up, rolling across the floor and under the table.

“Hey Bokuto, stay with me.” Akaashi yelps, rubbing his hand over Bokuto’s back in the gesture that usually calms him down enough to be sensible. It doesn’t help anything and the coughing intensifies to the point of choking. He reaches over and smacks the summon nurse button, rubbing the back again. “I’m right here Bokuto. Breathe deeply. In and out.” He listens to Bokuto’s choked breathing, eyes going wide when it suddenly stops. The button says the nurse has been summoned, but Bokuto’s breathing isn’t evening out at all. Shit. He quickly stands up and moves Bokuto onto his back, trying to remember the CPR he was taught ages ago. 

Compressions first. He places one hand on top of the other and places them onto the centre of Bokuto’s chest. He presses them down slightly, counting as the number reaches thirty. What’s next? Two breaths. He leans down and presses his lips to Bokuto’s, ignoring the little voice in his head that tells him that he wanted to do that for a long time. Akaashi tells the voice to shut the hell up, pinching shut Bokuto’s nose and breathing into his mouth. He begins the compressions again, fear thrashing in his chest at the thought of losing Bokuto.

“Come on Bokuto. Don’t leave me.” He mutters the words like a prayer, madly checking Bokuto’s source of breathing. No breath comes from his mouth. 

“You promised me we’d play one more game of volleyball! Don’t you dare go back on that now.” He growls, doing another round of compressions. “Don’t you dare. I will hunt you down and smack the hell out of you if you don’t come back to me right now. Don’t you dare leave me when you promised. Keep your promises you bastard.” He chants the words, feeling the slight fluttering of Bokuto’s breath. Thank heavens. The door slams open and Akaashi jumps out of the way as Mira races in, cap sliding to the side as she stands next to the bed, checking the pulse and breathing of her patient. His legs feel fuzzy and he collapses backwards into the chair, heart running like an Olympian. Another pair of nurses run in, one hooking up a machine to the boy, the other continuing the compressions as Mira measures the pulse. She yells something as she yanks up her mask. The words blur into the background drumbeat that is his heart, pounding with so much force that he feels it might go flying out from his ribs and roll across the floor. With a absent gaze he sees Owly, lying under the table. He's just in reach and Akaashi reaches out to it, holding Owly close to his chest. He smells like Bokuto, like home. He blocks out everything else, simply clutches Owly with all his strength, knuckles turning white from the force. It seems like a mockery to be holding a toy that looks like Bokuto and even smells like him, when the real Bokuto is having CPR done on him. 

Everything goes still around his little bubble. Happy memories light in his head, making him breathe deeply. Bokuto and Hinata being ridiculous during the training camp. Pulling Bokuto out of his slumps. Tossing the ball directly into Bokuto’s face during their first match. Kuroo being an infuriating bastard and knocking the ball down. Sneaking up onto the roof with the team at night. Discussing ways to drag Bokuto out of his slumps. He builds up the walls of his bubble, blocking out the world and curling into the chair, gripping Owly with all of his force.  
Time seems to slow down, almost stopping in place as he builds back the walls around his heart. It’s another twenty minutes before Mira kneels before him, hair falling lose from her cap as she reaches out for his hands.

“Thank you Akaashi. You most likely saved him.” She murmurs, patting his cheek. He nods, cramming the urge to cry deep down into his heart, sliding the wall into place . “You can talk to him now.” Mira stands back up and slides the hair back into her cap. He pushes off the chair, walking over to Bokuto. His Bokuto that was laughing and reading with him not so long ago. His eyes are dull and empty, new needles in his arm and a new heart monitor near him. He lies there, chest rising up and down as he breathes deeply. Akaashi drops Owly onto the bed next to him, tucking Owly under the blanket in Bokuto’s arms. Bokuto looks up at him, meekly holding out one hand. 

“Thanks, Akaashi.” He whispers, fingers shaking slightly in her grip. Akaashi nods, heart still pounding to the point of pain. 

“Are you alright?” Akaashi says gently. 

“Been better.” Bokuto replies softly, cuddling Owly. The monitor beeps loudly and Mira races over again, leaning in to check the monitor. 

“Shit. Hold tight.” She snaps, shooting out the door with one hand on her phone. Bokuto sighs deeply, fighting down the cough.

“I should probably go.” Akaashi offers it, letting the answer sit in the air. Bokuto nods. 

“You have exams soon. Your parents will be disappointed if you don’t study.”

“Right. Goodbye Bokuto.” He stands up and smiles. The door is still open and he goes to step out only for Bokuto to call his name.  
“Akaashi, do you really think I would leave you when we have so many more volleyball games left?” Bokuto says indignantly. A small grin rises to Akaashi’s face and he bows. 

“I shall hold you to that promise.” Bokuto nods and makes a half bow from the bed, grinning.

“You know I love you right?” He says casually. Akaashi’s heart stops for the sixth time in an hour and he freezes on the spot. Oh shit. 

“I do now. But please, can we save the teary declarations of love until after you can laugh with out nearly dying?” Akaashi replies, letting humour pave his tone as he smiles softly.

“Deal. But when I say it, you have to kiss me again.” Bokuto says the words playfully.

“If I can be around you without having another heart attack, then it’s a deal.” He smirks, combing his hair out of his eyes. Bokuto’s eyes light up, a smile rising. 

“Good luck on your exams! Come visit me!” He yells as Akaashi exits, a fond smile all over his face as he strides out of the hospital. 

~  
You could still be  
What you want to  
~

Akaashi sits in class, finishing up the last page of his modern history exam. It had been easy for him to understand, and the comprehension questions were so simple that even Bokuto couldn’t get them wrong. He circles the last question and walks up the front, placing it down in front of the teacher before returning to his desk and lowering his head against it. The classroom door slides open and an administration worker walks through, ignoring the stares of curious second years. They lean down and whisper something to the teacher who stands up.

“Keiji Akaashi. Report to the office.” Her voice is vaguely bored and the stares from his classmates whip to him with supersonic speed. He swallows nervously and picks up his bag, taking his time to stroll to the front and out the door.

“Am I in trouble?” He asks the bored looking assistant, who shakes their head and continues on, heels clicking against the corridor. The door swings open and she sits at her desk, pointing to another assistant

“There’s a phone call for you.” She says, holding up the ratty looking school phone line. He takes it in the manner you might hold an armed bomb and answers it.

“Hello? Akaashi here.” There’s no reply from the other end, just a strangled breath.

“Akaashi?” Its broken and hurt, but unmistakeably Bokuto’ father.

“Yes. What’s wrong?” Worry builds in the back of his chest and he focuses on the desk, breathing in and out.

“It’s Bokuto. He took a turn for the worse yesterday and he….” A choked sob breaks off the sentence and the world goes numb around Akaashi. No.

“I was with him when he turned. Is he ok now?” He manages to get the words out around the lump in his throat. A long pause surrounds the phone and a gut-wrenching sob shakes the line. 

“He responded negatively to the drugs they gave him. He’s dead. My little boy is dead.” The phone line slips out of Akaashi’s hand and he crumples, falling backwards onto the chair and dropping his head into his hands. The assistant and Bokuto’s father keep talking, but it’s drowned out by his heartbeat, loud and violent in his ears. It pounds behind his eyes as tears begin to pool. A little piece of paper gets slid to him by the assistant and he looks at it, wishing the blur away.

He said to let you know that he’s sorry to break the promise and that he loves you. And that he loved volleyball with you and you made hospital decent. To tell the team thanks for supporting him. The funeral is next Saturday. Do you need to go home?

There’s no point. The little photos and notes from Bokuto are in his room and he breathes roughly, shaking his head at the assistant. Little flashes of dark creep around his temples. That’s what Bokuto was worried about as he was dying? Breaking some stupid promise that he would be better and be able to play for Japan in volleyball. Telling his father that he loves Akaashi and loved volleyball with him. When he was dying, he was worrying about hurting others. His eyes spill over and he lets out a rough sob into his hand, closing his eyes and squeezing them shut. As if that could bring him back.

~  
What you said you were  
When I met you  
~

Rain threatens the funeral, creeping black clouds engulfing the sky. Little flashes of cloud stand out like the streaks in Bokuto’s hair. When he had hair. The team stands beside the grave, wearing the matching jumpers. The coffin is slowly lowered in just as a crack of thunder shakes the ground and lightning splits the sky. His parents are in the car and Akaashi almost runs to it, wanting to escape the sight of a headstone with Bokuto on it. He slams the door shut behind him and presses his head against the window, staring into space. The silence in the car snaps against his thoughts, everything is silent now. Their house is only a short distance away and he slowly walks inside, letting the rain hit his skin softly as he stares into nothing. His room looks empty, the photos of Bokuto torn down and stuffed into a drawer where he doesn’t have to cry every time he sees them. 

A little box sits on his bed, delivered two days after Bokuto died. His parents had said that he had left it to him, but why would he leave anything for him. When the only thing he did was leave him. A little bow sits on top, almost mockingly happy. Akaashi sits down and stares at it, curiosity fighting sorrow. Eventually the pull gets too strong and he plucks off the lid, staring inside. A box of Pocky sticks, Bokuto’s team jumper, Owly and the yellow scarf. And a folded piece of paper beneath them all. The Pocky sticks get thrown straight into the bin. Every time they had an argument Bokuto would try and make it better by bribing him with Pocky sticks to get him to talk again. But who was there to talk to now?

The jumper comes next, Bokuto written on the back in block letters. It would be too big for Akaashi, so it follows the Pocky sticks into the bin. Owly makes him pause for a second. He loves it, he really does. But it was a gift for Bokuto and he throws it before looking at the box again. The staining colour of the scarf sears itself across his mind and he looks at it. Every time, every stupid time he had seen Bokuto during the treatment, he had been wearing the scarf. It follows the jumper and Pocky sticks, thrown haphazardly to the side. The note has little smiley faces doodled on it and he tries to ignore the urge to screw up and toss the whole note away. He unfolds it and looks at the writing.

Hi Keiji Akaashi.  
If you’re reading this, then I am dead. I’m sorry. I meant every promise and everything I swore on. I wanted to play another season of volleyball with you. I wanted to play pro league and still have you tossing to me. I didn’t want to die. And I didn’t want to hurt you. But the doctor says that there’s a complication with my immune system and I’m reacting negatively to the treatment. This is new to them. Don’t blame them.  
This box has some Pocky sticks to make you feel better. Strawberry is your favourite after all. My team jumper is in there. I won’t be needing it anymore and I want you to have it. I love Owly and I hope you keep him to remember me by. And the scarf you gave me when I started treatment. I had this scarf on every day and every time I had to talk to another person who didn’t know how to help me. My little piece of you to comfort me. I hope you don’t hate me too much for leaving you. I love you. And I’m going to be with you forever and ever and ever.  
I don’t want to break that promise.  
The machines are beeping and my eyes are getting fuzzy. This is goodbye.  
Thank you for everything  
Kōtarō Bokuto

The sobs trapped in Akaashi’s chest break free and he crumples forward, tears dripping onto the paper as he snatches up the scarf and drops his head into it, letting the tears flow freely. The sleeping pills prescribed to him sit on the bedside table and he takes one, dry swallowing it and ignoring the way the bottle tips over. His scarf smells like Bokuto and he buries his face into it, muffling his sobs as thunder crashes around him. 

~  
When you met me  
When I met you  
~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this mess, if you want to leave a comment, then please do. Also please check out my Kagehina work :)


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